


Folie à Deux

by bloominglungs



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, Asexuality Spectrum, BDSM, F/M, Multi, Sexual Content, Smut, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-12-27 13:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloominglungs/pseuds/bloominglungs
Summary: When sex becomes a chore, maybe it's time for therapy.





	1. Un

His office was smaller than she had expected, but it was cozy nonetheless. It seemed that he had put quite the amount of effort into making his workspace as comfortable as possible, for himself and his clients. And it worked. The glass jar filled with individually wrapped miniature candy bars was a nice touch, she thought, as well as the water dispenser. He sat on a black leather chair behind his large desk, his laptop in front of him, an old fashioned mouse attached to it. Behind him, a tall shelf filled with archive folders and textbooks. On the wall, a bunch of diplomas and certifications from various entities, all framed and neatly displayed. There was a stretcher tucked close to the wall, a tall clothes hanger where only a black winter coat - probably his - rested and, other than that, the room was quite empty. She took in the sight for a moment, before clearing her throat to get his attention.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was caught up in my readings,” he chuckled softly, getting up from his chair and approaching her. “Min Yoongi, and you must be Alma Paz.”

“Nice to meet you, doctor Min,” she shook his hand with her usual firm grip, making eye contact.

“Can I take your coat?” He offered with a smile. She nodded, shedding the heavy winter coat that he hang next to his own. “Please have a seat.”

“So what brings you here, miss Paz?”

She had hoped he wouldn’t ask because talking about her problem proved to be extremely difficult and even awkward for Alma. As much as she rationally understood that it was a perfectly normal situation and thousands of people felt the same, she couldn’t help but feel inadequate. Which is why she searched for a therapist in the first place: she wanted to fully understand what was going on inside her own mind, to make sure she wasn’t crazy and to be offered solutions.

“Well, I-” she began, the confidence she had oozed not even a minute earlier in her handshake and eye contact vanishing at an alarming speed as she was so bluntly confronted with her own fragility by a complete stranger. “My boyfriend and I-”

Yoongi knew what she thought was wrong with her, of course. She had filled out some paperwork prior to the appointment and her psychologist who had referenced her had already given Yoongi her files, so he had at least an idea of what he was dealing with. But, of course, he was making her say it herself; it was important to study her body language and speech mannerisms and, so far, after not even five minutes of interaction, he had already seen her go from a confident woman who’s unafraid of a strong grip, to a state of vulnerability when confronted with her issue.

“My boyfriend and I haven’t -” she paused for a second, her cheeks gaining a slight pink tint; “we haven’t had sex in a while.”

“I see,” he merely replied, his chin resting on his closed fist. He observed her attentively, perhaps too attentive for her taste, his small brown eyes paying close attention to her every gesture from behind his thin glasses. “And why do you think that is?”

She had feared this question ever since she decided to seek therapy and, although she had prepared a few different answers in her mind, she honestly wasn’t sure. She didn’t completely understand the reason why she had grown tired of sex and it came to the point where Alma thought she was broken. She had to be, right? What kind of person just doesn’t enjoy sex? Surely, she had to be sick.

“I don’t enjoy sex,” she confessed, looking down at her own hands resting on her lap, trying to avoid doctor Min’s piercing gaze. “Never have.”

At this point, doctor Min had started taking notes in a loose piece of paper with a Pikachu pen, which made her giggle slightly, to his secret delight. The choice of writing material had been deliberate to make his clients smile at the sight of such a familiar icon. It never failed to, even the most sullen of men and women.

“But you’ve had sex in the past?” She nodded. “And was it ever pleasurable to you in any way?”

That particular question seemed to trigger some degree of anxiety in her. Yoongi noticed how she fumbled with her own hands, pulling at the loose bits of skin around her nails, most likely because she was too self-conscious to bite them off in front of her therapist. He also took a note of that.

“Are you asking if I ever came?”

He lifted his eyes from the paper to look directly at her, his brown eyes boring holes in her blue ones. “That’s exactly what I’m asking, Miss Paz,” he simply stated.

“No,” she answered curtly. “I never had an orgasm during sex.”

“And have you ever faked an orgasm, Miss Paz?”

She chewed on her lower lip and nodded slowly, somehow feeling guilty. Of course, in theory, the idea of not faking an orgasm and telling your partner that you’re not enjoying the experience seems like a good one. The key to any healthy relationship is communication, after all. But it was such a hassle to let her boyfriend know he was doing something wrong, not to mention the fight that would probably ensue when he decided to shift the blame onto her because he’s a god and she’s probably just frigid.

“A lot of them,” she replied, keeping her head down in nothing but shame. “I have to, otherwise he won’t get off of me.”

“Hm,” he voiced as he examined her face, causing her cheeks to flush. His gaze was trained on her, scrutinizing her every move and word and it made her feel self-conscious and nervous.

“Sounds like you have communication issues,” he stated matter of factly. “So when he approaches you for sex, you say yes even though you don’t want to?”

“I do,” she replied. “Sometimes I do have valid excuses, but if I lie my way out of sex all the time, he gets angry and we end up arguing.”

“Have you had other sexual partners besides your boyfriend?”

“Yes. Two,” she recalled. “A man and a woman. She was okay, he was terrible.”

Yoongi scribbled something on his piece of paper. She peeked at his notes, not sure what keyword to look for, especially in his messy handwriting, and she noticed his large masculine hands, prominent veins adorning his pale skin and long slim fingers holding the pen firmly, handwriting heavy and bold.

“Miss Paz, as you know the type of therapy I offer is a bit more hands on if you will,” he began; “and I do have some ideas as to why you’re not enjoying your sex life to the fullest, but it’s too early to make a diagnose.”

Alma had a bit of a confused look on her face. She was aware of the services he offered, but for some reason she expected talk therapy to suffice. Her psychologist had been clear as to what kind of treatment he was prescribing, but for some reason, she seemed to not have fully swallowed that thought. The idea of having him touch her body was unsettling, to say the least. Especially when her boyfriend thought she was going to normal therapy to make her want to fuck.

“Throughout our sessions, we will explore the motives for your lack of interest in sex and find solutions,” he explained. “However, there is also the possibility that you’re just not a sexual person, in which case, my role is to ensure you understand it is perfectly normal to be asexual and learn to embrace it.”

That was a lot of information to take in and she shifted in her seat, trying to process everything he said.  _Asexual?_  So she was broken and couldn’t be fixed? So she would never enjoy sex? What about her boyfriend?

“So next week we will explore what is wrong with your sexual encounters so far and what kind of stimuli you respond to,” he informed, taking another piece of paper. “I have openings on Wednesday morning and Thursday evening, since you work shifts it might be hard to pinpoint a date.”

“Thursday evening sounds good, I finish work at five,” she confirmed.

“Good,” he smiled, handing her the piece of paper where he had written the date and time of their next appointment.

“Until then, I would like you to think about your sexual encounters so far, what you liked and didn’t like about it.”

He opened a drawer and took out a small notebook which he handed to her. She found herself smiling again because it was yet another piece of Pokémon memorabilia. “Write it here. Write down how you feel, your thoughts, anything you want. Consider this your journal,” he smiled as she took the notebook. "You seem to take a liking for our friendly pocket monsters.”

“Thank you doctor Min,” she said as she got up and he did the same, going around his desk to escort her out.

“No problem at all, Miss Paz, it’s my pleasure.”

Her boyfriend didn’t seem to be home when she arrived, the house was awfully quiet and dark.

“Jungkook?” She called out, just to make sure she was alone. “I guess he’s out with the guys…”

Alma put down her bag and keys and made her way to the kitchen, she was hungry as a wolf, recalling her last meal before her appointment with Yoongi, a sad egg sandwich. While she watched the water bubble up on her kettle, she started thinking about the therapy session. Doctor Min seemed nice, he was definitely attractive with his observant brown eyes, small button nose, and heart shaped lips. His hands looked very manly. If she had to go through sexual therapy, it was good that her therapist was sort of hot. He was a professional, he studied a lot, he knew all about sexuality, that was his job. The hands-on approach scared her a little: what was he going to do to her? She had read the information on his website and was aware there would be touching, but she wasn’t sure exactly what would happen. Maybe she should have read it again. And asked doctor Min. Was he going to touch her private parts? Would she have to lie naked on that stretcher in his office?

_Fuck what have I gotten myself into…_

Taking her hot cup of tea, she sat down on the couch and decided to debut her new journal, but maybe she should remove her makeup and change into comfortable clothes first. She came back to the living room wearing her old booty shorts and figure hugging shirt that made her feel somewhat sexy.

Maybe Jungkook would notice and her problems would disappear. They would have wonderful sex, she would be cured.  But would she, really? Sex with Jungkook had never really been satisfactory, let alone wonderful. It was all a game to him, it was a sprint race where he would always come first, well, he would always come. Her, not so much. Foreplay was non-existent, a few kisses if she was lucky. And he was big, but he seemed to not understand how the female body works: you have to be wet for it to fit comfortably. But it didn’t matter, as long as he got his high. And she also never bothered to let him know she wasn’t enjoying the moment. She didn’t want to ruin things, didn’t want to start a fight. She figured that faking an orgasm was the quickest and easiest way out of the whole ordeal. Then she could just roll over and try to sleep.

But doctor Min, he was handsome. His hands were big and manly, maybe he would use them in their therapy. Jungkook never really did. Surely he would use his hands to hold her body in place for him, but never for her pleasure. He seemed to use her body as a mere vessel for his own satisfaction and nothing more and she wondered if the problem resided in her:  _maybe I’m not pretty enough, maybe I need to lose weight, maybe I need to do more_. Jungkook was a hot guy. He was tall and chiseled from head to toe, his body was truly a masterpiece, not to mention his face. She often wondered why a guy like him would be with a girl like her - a short, chubby girl with messy hair and glasses too big for her face. Why would Jeon Jungkook settle for a girl like her? It’s not like she was unattractive, she would normally consider herself pretty cute. But Jeon, he seemed so out of her league. She almost felt like she should worship the ground he walked on for giving her the chance to be his girlfriend. But she knew that wasn’t right. She didn’t owe him shit and he didn’t appreciate her enough.

Lost in her thoughts, she realised she had furiously written down everything, in messy handwriting, so heavy it almost made a hole in the paper. She heard the front door click and immediately turned the page and started scribbling a recipe for a cake she had been thinking about baking in the past few days, trying to act as casual as possible.

“Hey babe,” she greeted before he slammed the door. “Rough day?”

“I’ll give you  _rough_ ,” he threatened before audibly setting his keys down and pacing further into the apartment, leaving a trail of clothes all the way from the front door to the bathroom.

She sighed and closed the notebook, hiding it amongst her books on the small table by the couch. Jungkook never touched her books so he wouldn’t see it and she could hide it better when she was home alone. She could hear the shower running, as their apartment was pretty small, and she decided to pick up a book she had been trying to finish for quite a while: The Story of O. Way before Fifty Shades, erotica was a lot more hardcore, she chuckled to herself, taking the book to the bedroom she shared with her boyfriend and lying down in bed to read a bit. Usually, Jungkook’s showers took at least twenty minutes, plus ten more to apply his moisturisers and whatever else he did in there, so she could read at least a few pages before he turned the lights out.

Alma thought that all those brutal sex acts depicted in the book were a bit too extreme and she would probably never even consider them but, at the same time, it was exciting to read about. Maybe getting branded with a hot iron or having her vulva pierced was a bit too much, but she wouldn’t mind it if Jungkook tried to be a bit dominant with her. Maybe a few spanks in her ass, maybe some hair pulling. That could be hot, right? Should she say that to doctor Min, that she was curious to try things like light bondage and the slightest bit of pain and humiliation? Would he do that to her in their sessions? And, most importantly, would she enjoy it? In theory, it sounded exciting, hot. But maybe it wouldn’t feel that great…

As predicted, it took Jungkook about half an hour to shower and he appeared in the room in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, which was promptly tossed on the floor and kicked to some corner. Alma mentally cringed at how disgusting her boyfriend could be and made a note to clean up after him in the morning.

“What are you reading?”

“Nothing, just girl stuff,” she shrugged and put down the book on her nightstand. Hopefully, he wouldn’t even recognise the title.

“Girl stuff?” Jungkook raised one eyebrow as he glanced at the book. “Oh babe you should have told me you were into that,” he smirked, climbing in bed with only his boxer shorts on.

_Shit, he knows the book._

“I didn’t know you were a freak,” he continued, slowly inching in closer to the woman. She truly wasn’t in the mood for sex, but there was nothing she could do or say to get out of it. Faking orgasms it is…

She would have loved it if he would just ask about her day, tell her about his, then maybe they could make out a bit and sex wouldn’t feel like a chore. Maybe it was his problem and not hers, maybe he didn’t even try to make her feel good, he just heard the moans and assumed that was it. But she would never tell him this, that would lead to a fight and it was already past eleven, the neighbours would knock on the door to complain about the noise and it would be pointless. She was already getting therapy so hopefully, in a few weeks she would start enjoying sex with her boyfriend and that would never be a problem again. Of course, Jungkook wasn’t aware that the therapy she had signed up for was hands on, he assumed she was seeing a psychologist. She had asked him if he wanted to take the couple’s therapy but he had refused because you’re the one who’s frigid. So when her sex therapist prescribed her a few sessions with a sexual surrogate therapist, she knew she would have to take the secret to her grave. Technically, it was cheating, at least Jungkook would think so, even if it was actual medical counseling. But then again, she was doing it for Jungkook, so she could become the sex crazed kinky lover he had always wanted. She wasn’t sure what the benefits for her would be; she tried to think that being in Yoongi’s company for two hours a week was a good enough consolation prize.

“Jungkook, I’m really tired,” she lied. “I’m sorry, babe.”

She hadn’t intended to lie her way out of sex, but she was indeed tired, maybe not physically but she was emotionally exhausted. It had been a long week.

“I thought you would want to get frisky after reading that, but whatever,” he trailed off, a bitter tone in his voice, turning to his side in bed, his back turned to her.

She decided to do the same and keep enough distance so that they wouldn’t be touching in any way. It always ended like that when he didn’t get sex. He would be angry at her the next day but it would eventually dissolve and maybe the next time he asked for sex, she would be in a better mood.

“Night, Kook.”


	2. deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for mentions of sexual abuse

_I remember the Spring Awakening phase everyone seemed to go through in middle school: hiding behind the gym to make out, the awkward sexual education lesson where we were handed condoms while a random teacher showed us a slideshow with gruesome pictures of ill genitals. (Those condoms ended up being used as water balloons during recess.)_

_All my classmates seemed to have hormonal rage at the time, including the girl who was my best friend back then, a pretty blonde girl named Zooey. A couple of boys were interested in Zooey, as you’d expect. She was indeed very beautiful and an early bloomer, her breasts started to grow round and perky around seventh grade and her hips seemed perfectly sculpted. Unlike me, I was just the fat girl._

_Zooey was not just beautiful, she was a lovely girl, had good grades and her parents were both surgeons. Looking back, I realise how fucked up it was of me to be so jealous of all the attention she was getting, but I couldn’t help those feelings of inadequacy that came with being the pretty girl’s overweight latina friend. In ninth grade, she started dating this hot guy who didn’t even go to our school, he was actually a few years older than us. He had trouble written all over, but that was what made him so hot to us. I can’t remember his name but I think it was Ryan or Bryan. All the girls in class were green with envy when he picked Zooey up from school in his motor bike. I guess I should have warned her he_ _was bad news but she seemed so infatuated…_

_She called me one Friday night to talk about their first time having sex, her first time, and how excruciatingly disappointing it had been. He didn’t touch her much, didn’t kiss her much, it hurt and she felt dirty. But “I’m a woman now, a real woman”, she happily enchanted, despite the bad sex; he said it would get better with time and practice. Now, I had never been particularly interested in dating or sex, like most kids in school, maybe because I was focusing on other stuff like my grades or because I didn’t really care. But that moment, I decided I would never have sex. The way she described his actions, how he pushed her on to bed like she wasn’t even a person, removed her clothes with such violence that he ruined her cute blouse, and shoved his dick into her with no foreplay whatsoever, made my blood boil so hot in my veins that I nearly caught fire. I kind of wanted to kill him._

_I had spent my entire life overhearing my mother’s rants about her boyfriend never wanting to give her oral or being too rough, so even before I actually knew what she was talking about, I already despised the idea of sex. But that day, whilst Zooey told me all about her first sexual encounter, half giggling and half crying, blaming herself for the failure, I swore I’d never let a dick anywhere near me. Yet here I am, wrapped up in a blanket, my pussy hurting and my ego completely shattered after Jungkook came back from work in a shitty mood. He was mad at his boss and mad at the traffic jam and mad at me because I’d been complaining too much when I could be opening my legs instead. Of course, I didn’t come, as always. He did, when does he not…_

“Good evening, Miss Paz,” Doctor Min greeted with a warm smile as she sat down in the same chair as the previous week. “You seem nervous today.”

He was of course very observant as are all therapists, which made Alma slightly uncomfortable. But something about him was more unsettling than any other therapist she had ever seen, maybe the fact that at some point she would perform intimate acts with him and that thought wasn’t as relaxing as it should be.

“Rough day at work,” she sighed, her body becoming one with the chair and a soft tired sigh leaving her lips.

She never told him what she did for a living, only that it was physically demanding and involved standing on her feet and dealing with arrogant rich people all day along, so he assumed she worked in customer service. He had worked at Target during his university days, so he could sympathise with her misfortune, perhaps more than she was aware.

“Is that all, miss Paz,” the corner of his lips were ever so slightly curled up into a tiny smirk. “I’m sure you’ve got more reasons to be stressed.”

She tried swallowing the lump in her throat, eyeing him with a concerned expression plastered on her face that she couldn’t hide. It was safe, Doctor Min was a therapist, he was trustworthy and she wanted to tell him everything but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. He wasn’t intimidating as a person but the diplomas on the wall behind him made her feel iffy about him anyway.

“Have you written in your journal at all?” She nodded. That was a good idea, she had always been better at expressing herself through writing.

Yoongi attentively read the page, his brows furrowed in concentration as she fidgeted with her hands, her stomach tingling at the idea of someone invading the depths of her mind like that. It’s not just the mind… sometime in the future, his hands will be exploring my entire body, too. The thought of his small pouty lips closing in around her nipples crept up on her and she quickly closed her legs and forced herself to focus on the journal in his hands instead. He obviously picked up on her struggle but he would leave that to later.

“It seems that you’ve experienced some sexual trauma early in life,” he noted. “The vast majority of the women I help tell me similar stories.”

It didn’t exactly come as a surprise to Alma that most women experience some form of sexual trauma even in childhood. All of her friends seemed to have some type of horror story to tell about a man grabbing them on the bus, uttering degrading words as they passed by or even worse.

Throughout her life, she had met a lot of women who had been raped, be it at knifepoint in a dark alley, by their own family members in complete secrecy or by their partners who would guilt trip them into having sex against their will. Alma knew from a very young age that men are vile and they can scream not all men to the seven winds and she will never believe them.

“I kind of figured,” she sighed, with an unamused look on her face.

She felt conflicted towards Doctor Min. He was a man and those were hard to trust. Of course, he was a certified psychologist getting paid to help her and he took an oath so how bad could he be? Maybe in his private life, he was an asshole but, surrounded by the four walls of his comfortable office, he was a friend of sorts. He was also very attractive to Alma, not necessarily a hunk type like Jungkook but maybe the contrast between them was to blame for her attraction towards Doctor Min. He was soft-spoken, quiet, seemingly shy and observant, the complete opposite of her extroverted, loud, sometimes (very often) obnoxious boyfriend.

Having sex with Doctor Min for medicinal purposes would occasionally feel like a very good idea: he was handsome and had a sexy voice and manly hands and he quite literally (almost) had a degree in giving orgasms. If anyone was going to cure her of this terrible illness that is not enjoying sex as a young adult, he was the one for the job.

“Miss Paz,” his deep voice interrupted her fast running train of thought for a moment and she looked in his eyes, sort of distraught. “Have you ever truly felt sexual desire towards anyone? Or do you feel like you have to force yourself?”

That was a tough question in its core. It would be simple for anyone who truly likes to have sex and has experienced the act to the fullest. To Alma, however, it was quite tricky. Yoongi obviously knew how to choose his words.

<i>I feel sexual desire towards you…</i>

“Well… I’m not sure,” was the answer she could manage. It wasn’t untrue…

She had looked at both men and women and found them hot. She had been wet from some type of sensorial stimulation. She had felt like having sex with a certain person could possibly be pleasurable. She had once been incredibly hot for Jungkook, he was good looking and had a nice smirk. However, the performances turned out to always be mediocre, she ended up not experiencing orgasms or any other form of pleasure during any of her sexual encounters with men. Sure, it’s easy to find a couple of partners who just can’t seem to do it but all of her sex life had been a complete disaster since she was seventeen.

“I don’t think I need to remind you of my line of work and I’m sure you’re aware that maybe in the future we will have sex in this office,” Min reminded her, his voice stern and his tone professional.

And if the idea of his body on hers made her pussy tingle, but as soon as she was so bluntly confronted with the reality that he would touch her body as a part of his therapy methods and not out of pure passion made her slightly uncomfortable and even sad.

“I’m aware,” she confirmed, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks (and earning a tiny smile from the man).

“So what I want to do is put you at ease, make sure you trust me before anything happens. The most important element in a healthy sexual relationship is trust, whether you’re with a partner of years or someone you just met.”

His explanation made perfect sense. Even during one night stands, the ability to trust the other is crucial. This person could steal your wallet and run, remove the condom without warning or worse, much worse. The need to have a good fuck could easily cloud judgement, but to give one’s body to someone -anyone- requires some amount of trust. And she definitely trusted Doctor Min, at least on a professional level. But maybe he needed her to give him more than trust, he needed enthusiastic and full consent to even kiss her cheek, let alone undress her.

“I trust you, Doctor Min,” she affirmed, a genuine smile on her face. “You’re my therapist after all.”

“Of course you trust me Miss Paz but to which degree,” he questioned, not completely expecting an answer. “I won’t touch you until you want me to, otherwise I’d be just another one of your shitty pseudo lovers.” Alma giggled at his cursing, which he purposely let slip in order to put her at ease. The fastest route towards trust and understanding is through language after all.

“From now on, you will call me Yoongi,” he grinned, his small brown eyes morphing into crescent moons in his face. “Removing titles and family names is a good start, Alma.” She concurred.

For a moment, she imagined doctor Min, well Yoongi, roughly taking her from behind whilst pulling her hair and she would moan out “hmmm Doctor Min”. It sounded so silly in her head and she couldn’t help but giggle out loud.

“What’s so funny?”

“N-nothing, I just-” her cheeks were tainted deep crimson, such was her embarrassment. Sometimes Yoongi had a way of making her feel like a high school girl. “I just have a very vivid imagination.”

“That’s good, Alma,” he praised with a smile. “Creativity is always a fantastic trait and it does make my job a lot more fun.” The smirk that adorned his face as he said that was unbelievable. Alma could feel herself get wet and her thighs rubbed together discretely, in hopes that Yoongi’s hawk eye would miss it. She knew they wouldn’t but she prayed he would at least not mention it.

“I can understand why,” she murmured, her hand fumbling with the hem of her skirt. It was amusing how he could push and loosen up all the right buttons in such a short amount of time but then again, that was his job and her psychologist had given Yoongi a detailed file about Alma Paz.

There was a fine line between Doctor Min Yoongi, sexual surrogate and therapist, and just Yoongi. She didn’t know just Yoongi but she really wanted to. Was Yoongi a wild one or just as soft as Doctor Min? Did he fuck rough?

“There are a few exercises for us to work on building a healthy relationship based on mutual trust and communication before we even touch each other beyond a friendly handshake,” he explained, his voice always came out slow and controlled. “I would like you to remove your shoes and stand up.”

She did as he told her, not overly concerned about this exercise. He stood in front of her, head high and body perfectly aligned. He was taller than her by only a few centimetres and his body was lanky and weak looking, especially in that navy suit that emphasised his skinny legs. Her thighs were twice the size of his and she felt self-conscious for a hot minute.

“This is very simple,” he assured, taking a step forward until their faces were almost touching but no part of their bodies were actually in contact. “We’re going to look into each other’s eyes for five minutes without saying a word. You can move your body at will, just don’t break eye contact and don’t speak. If you do that, we’ll start over,” he explained, grabbing his smartphone to set a timer.

It seemed easy enough when he said it like that but in reality, she couldn’t remember the last time she had looked into someone’s eyes, truly looked, quiet and observing, for more than a few seconds at a time. Looking someone in the eye for minutes on end felt intimate and warm, although awkward.

The first minute felt strange, almost like an alternate reality. How many times during our entire lives do we really look into someone’s eyes for a full minute? Yoongi’s eyes had amazing details one could easily miss. They were small yet overflowing with light. Brown in colour, as to be expected of an Asian man, they had a warm undertone, somewhat reddish. He seemed to smile with his eyes, even if his face didn’t show any emotion, which it often didn’t. He had long and dark eyelashes, almost doll-like and his eyebrows were thin and rounded, which made him look all the more approachable. It’s funny how eyebrows -or lack thereof- can truly change a face.

She was sincerely immersed in him and he felt quite the same. Her eyes seemed simply blue from a distance but, looking at them so up close made him see the soft hues of hazel and grey, mixed with a dash of emerald. They looked gloomy, bloodshot from exhaustion. But they truly were beautiful. Alma was a pretty woman, or so Yoongi thought. Women of all ages, shapes and sizes had come and gone from his office, some for talk therapy only but the majority for sensate focus therapy -sex. He found beauty in all of them. The fifty-something who never married and felt lonely; the overworked mother of three; the lonesome young woman in a wheelchair whose body had never been touched -he managed to give her an orgasm through nipple stimulation and a lot of kissing and sweet talk. He was often asked how he could have sex with people who looked like that, as if looking anything but pretty and slim was the worst fate for a woman. He truly found all of his clients beautiful in some way and he truly enjoyed the intimacy with each one of them.

Alma was actually physically stunning, though. Maybe because she was conventionally attractive, he didn’t need to delve into her mind to feel primal desire. Maybe because Alma, a pretty young woman with large breasts, a somewhat slim waist, thick thighs and a gorgeous complexion, was so easy on his eye, he felt like it was almost unfair that she would come back home to a man who couldn’t make her scream and see stars. And it wasn’t just her face or her body that attracted him, he was awfully affected by her seeming vulnerability.

She was beautiful in more ways than one and she deserved to feel loved and appreciated, to have her body worshipped. The alarm on his phone broke both their trances and it took them a moment to land back in reality. She smiled, her cheeks flustered upon fully realising this was probably the first time a man had looked at her for so long. Even Jungkook never spared her more than a few seconds of his undivided attention and sharing this level of intimacy with someone who was not much more than a stranger felt odd yet comforting.

“I would like you to point the parts of your body you dislike and tell me why,” he ordered, taking a step back and leaning on the desk.

Alma was still recovering from those five minutes of quiet bliss and his request took her by surprise. She wasn’t one to actively hate her own body but being comforted with her own insecurities so abruptly did take a toll on her self-confidence. She looked down at her own clothed body, analysing every curve and straight line, the little hairs on her leg that escaped the razor, the way her thighs not only touched but seemed to massage each other.

“I-I would like to be slimmer,” she hesitantly voiced. Yoongi simply nodded, urging her to continue. “My legs are too big and I’m pretty short,” she continued, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable with the situation. “My belly is pudgy.” After a bitter silence on her end, he figured she could cry and decided to not continue with the exercise, it was making her feel anxious.

“Do you believe your body affects the way your boyfriend touches you? That if you changed these things you dislike about yourself, he would pleasure you sexually?”

Another tough question and that one really hurt. She tended to have neutral feelings about her body most of the time, she had gotten used to the skin she was in, after battling insecurity in her teens. Everyone in their teens is insecure. She was well informed, well read. She knew her body was just that, a body. But like every other woman, some days she felt not good enough. Especially next to Jungkook, chiselled and sculpted to perfection. Even next to Yoongi, who probably weighed a lot less than herself. How would they have sex if she looked like she could crush him if she sat on his lap?

“Sometimes I think so…” He hummed at her reply, taking a mental note to write that down later as important information.

“Your homework for next week is to stand naked in front of a full-length mirror and focus on details about your body that you like, anything from your hair to your left lung. Write it down because we will work on it.”

We will work on it. Does that mean she will have to undress…? He sensed her concern and immediately knew how to ease it.

“We will only go as far as you want to, Alma,” he spoke calmly, his voice soothing. “I will never force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She hummed in response, thinking about whether or not she would be able to undress in front of him in their next session. Maybe chugging down a mimosa before going to his office would help with that.

“That’s good to know,” she whimpered, her body stiff all of a sudden. Of course, he picked up on that too.

“Would you like to sit down again?” He also took his seat across from her behind his desk and scribbled something before averting his attention back to her. “I want you to know that there is nothing wrong with your body, Alma,” he reassured, his eyes on hers and his fingers very gently caressing the back of her hand. She glanced at their hands and blushed.

“Your body is a beautiful and functioning extension of you and it’s perfect in every way.” She couldn’t keep her eyes on his, the blush on her face extending to her neck and ears.

“And if your boyfriend isn’t treating you and your body with the utmost love and respect, it’s not your duty to lose weight for him.”

Those words hit her like a truck. Of course, she was aware that she should not go on diets for any man but, deep down, she couldn’t help but feel that if she was slimmer, Jungkook would be more interested in her. He was very into fitness and she saw him lurking on female fitness models’ Instagrams all the time. He obviously was attracted to that particular body type and, although he never said anything too insulting, he did mention a couple of times that it would be nice if she exercised. Having a man tell her that her body was perfect really messed with her mind, in a good way.

“I know…”

“But you still kind of believe that losing weight would help your cause,” he finished, smirking a little. “It won’t. He knew you weren’t slim before you started having sex.”

Good point.

“So please do your homework. I’m looking forward to our next consultation,” he smiled, getting up to shake her hand.

She hadn’t realised it had already been one hour. The handshake felt a lot less awkward than the first one they had shared, one week earlier. She even leaned in for a quick hug, which he returned, patting her back gently. She would have liked to linger but she still felt iffy about it. He smiled to himself as she grabbed her coat and purse and left, careful not to slam the door.

Yoongi relaxed in his chair and started scribbling again, taking his notes about Alma for his meeting with her psychologist. There was no direct contact between Yoongi and Alma, they didn’t exchange phone numbers and he didn’t know where exactly she lived or worked. They weren’t supposed to have any contact besides their sessions and logistics were handled by staff. If any emergency ensued, she would contact the clinic and never Yoongi himself. There was an awful lot of rules meant to protect both parties and he had to admit it made him somewhat sad to think that he would never see any of the women he helped again. Alma was no exception. It could take anywhere between two months to one year or even more of sexual surrogate therapy for the patient to truly become cured.

One woman, in particular, Miss Pais, had been so traumatised it took her fourteen months of intense therapy to recover. She had been drugged and abused by four men on a bus on her way to university and she had developed a series of symptoms like severe social anxiety and fear of being touched. Yoongi needed exactly twenty sessions of just talk therapy to assure her he was trustworthy and would never hurt her. He expected treatment with Miss Paz to take about five to seven months. She seemed eager but nervous. Her motives for pursuing therapy seemed to fit in a blurry line between self-improvement and pleasing someone else.

In two sessions, she had opened up about some of her past traumatic experiences regarding sexuality and her deteriorating relationship with a man who seemed to not appreciate her. The general outline of treatment was the same for every patient, with tweaks made where needed: get the patient to open up, make them feel comfortable and at ease and, from then, work on the sensate focus therapy in its various stages. His own physical attraction towards her would have to be kept controlled and not acted upon until the time came for therapeutic sex. He had been a sexual surrogate therapist for six years and he had seen other beautiful women but Alma affected him in some type of way. He felt like he needed to figure himself out in order to treat her and not mention his attraction, or she would be assigned to another therapist. Maybe he was just excited about a woman his own age, whose body was shaped in a way he was personally fond of, he thought. She seemed pure and kind and he had no intention of using her for his own gratification.

<i>29.11.2016 Alma Rodriguez de la Paz receptive Self-conscious about her appearance, specifically her weight and thick thighs sexual trauma from early on first exercise was very successful</i>

☆

“Hey honey,” she greeted. Jungkook was sitting on the couch, a book in his hand, his reading glasses hanging in his nose. It had been months since she had seen him read a book.

“Hi,” he simply said, not paying too much attention to her. She almost preferred it this way, when he ignored her instead of demanding sex or making snarky comments.

Under the hot shower water, she thought about Yoongi and how she longed to feel his hands on her body. His hands were warm when he touched hers that evening. Warm and soft. He could probably make her come undone with nothing but those manly hands, his deep voice coaxing her to give it to him.

The thought was hotter than the water on her skin and she felt an urge she hadn’t felt in a while: to touch her body, not to orgasm but to truly feel her skin on herself, the curves and crevices she was made of, every stretch mark and acne scar, large pores on her nose, the curly thick hairs of her womanhood that Jungkook kept asking her to wax off. She wondered whether Yoongi would prefer her to shave when the time comes for them to have sex. If he would mind those stray hairs on her legs where the razor didn’t get to; if he truly thought her chubby body was perfect once he saw the cellulite on her butt.

And she wondered what his penis looked like, what it would feel like in her hands and inside of her, whether it was small or large or thick; if he had it circumcised like Jungkook’s. All the while Jungkook set peacefully in the living room, unaware that the therapy his girlfriend attended was hands-on. Yoongi had her feeling conflicted, she thought she couldn’t feel sexual attraction but there she was, touching herself to the thought of a man’s body on hers. Maybe human sexuality isn’t as simple as liking sex versus not liking it at all, she thought. And maybe Doctor Min would just help her figure out where she stood on that subject.


	3. trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoongi isn't feeling well. 
> 
> mentions of smut, sexual violence

A dirty plate on the table, stained yellow, a half empty coffee mug with no sign of milk in it and a small oily frying pan on top of the stove signaled that Jungkook had left early for his usual trip to the gym. Alma decided to eat something first and then maybe clean up after her boyfriend. Or maybe not, maybe she would rebel and leave his dirty plates as they were, teach him a lesson. He had gotten used to having Alma do everything for him, like she was his mother first and girlfriend second and she had been meaning to call him out on that, but always afraid to start an argument she knew he would win, even if she was right. 

He always needed to win everything, even if it wasn’t a competition; he would turn any situation into one and make rules up just so he could be victorious. She had been too exhausted with work, managing her own health and trying to stay afloat to confront Jungkook about every single thing he did that displeased her, but that would change. Maybe it was doctor Min’s fault that she was starting to show signs of being ready to fight back, she considered. Two sessions in and she was already starting to see just how much was wrong with her relationship. Truthfully, she had known for a long time, after all she was intelligent. She had chosen to stay quiet and not make waves in a seemingly perfect ocean. Except that ocean was far from perfect and was crawling with sharks but the old Alma would rather be eaten alive than slice open the belly of a beast like that.

She picked up an avocado and halved it, deciding to put it on toast with a fried egg but her only frying pan was dirty, thanks to Jungkook and she was firm in her decision to leave his mess until he came back to attend to it. Breakfast menu was changed to Cocoa Pops at the last minute and she smiled at herself, knowing her boyfriend would make some type of snarky remark about her eating habits and her weight if he was there. But he wasn’t and maybe she would leave the cereal box out just to spite him when he got back.

 

Not too far from Alma’s morning endeavours, a fatigued Yoongi picked up tomatoes at the supermarket, not even bothering to look at them, just mindlessly grabbing a few and dropping them on the flimsy plastic bag meant for that purpose. He hadn’t slept or had breakfast and he would much rather go back to bed but unfortunately, a long day of work awaited him. Besides some homework he planned on doing after eating his almond croissant - he couldn’t be bothered to make breakfast, even something like pouring weetabix and milk on a bowl sounded too exhausting - he had four sessions, one of them being sensate focus therapy. He would love to just cancel it, but he was a responsible man and the patient in question was already a nervous wreck, if he cancelled on her at the last minute, she would probably cry into his arms the following session. 

All those letters formed incomprehensible words behind his eyes and the coffee mug was filled a third time before he could bring himself to continue organising his notes on the patients of the day. Natalie, 59, mother of three, recently divorced a very abusive husband who did things to her that made Yoongi’s blood boil with profound rage. She needed affection more than she needed sex and she was a nice lady, despite talking about her cat a bit too much. Carol, 19, taken advantage of at a frat party and trying to deal with the feelings of intense guilt that burdened her way too young shoulders.  
If there was something that Yoongi despised was all the victim-blaming he witnessed in his years as a sexual therapist. His career had been plagued with women and men alike, but mostly women, who had suffered through horrendous trauma and, on top of that, made to feel like it was their fault for wearing a skirt, for leaving their homes unaccompanied, for not fighting back, for drinking… As different as all those women were, they all had one thing in common: they were violated and blamed for their own demise, as if existing as a woman in this world is in itself an invitation to for physical, psychological and sexual violence.

Of course, Carol’s aggressor was still out there, was dismissed as a lost drunk boy who meant no harm and was just doing what boys do while she was confined to a cubicle in a hospital room having her privacy violated for the second time that evening, being interrogated like a criminal and told it was her fault for wanting to have fun like everyone else at a party. The real criminal had his swim times printed in all the local newspapers while the victim had SLUT graffitied on her car. 

Yoongi’s third patient of the day, the one he would most likely have sex with, was a young woman whose lack of mobility caused her to not even attempt intimacy with anyone, so she figured a therapist would be the answer to her cravings. It would be her second session and she had made it clear she was seeking mostly sex and, even though he would rather spend more time in talking therapy, she was desperate to rush things. Usually, Yoongi wouldn’t break the moral code by which he operated, he wouldn’t have sex with a patient simply because she demanded it, he would never let a patient think they knew more than him, a certified psychologist specialising in sexual health but, that day, he was too mentally exhausted to deal with anything so he decided that if Gemma was too obnoxious for his pounding head, he might as well just lay her down and finger her until everything was easy yet again. 

Except nothing was easy that day, a mundane rainy Thursday that dragged a bit longer than he had hoped and, when he got home, past his usual dinner time, the walls of his bedroom seemed to close in on his small frame and had the bed not been so near, he would have gotten hurt when he collapsed with exhaustion and desperation, his sheets still tangled the way he left them in the morning. Too tired to cook or even grab something from the convenience store directly underneath his apartment, he opened up his laptop and typed in the first two letters of the pizza place nearby, not needing to type in the full address because it was already saved in his browser history. The usual: medium meat feast, thin crust, with extra cheese, potato wedges and garlic dipping sauce. A bottle of coke would be added for free to his order and thankfully, he still had some leftover Captain Morgan somewhere in his kitchen: he could use some liquid courage.

The reason he needed courage was to go through his notes regarding a certain patient by the name of Alma Paz. He would not see her until Sunday (he wished their sessions were fixed but, thanks to her shift work, that just wasn’t feasible) but he still needed to organise his thoughts regarding her diagnosis and therapy resources, or so he told himself. He needed to organise the notes he had taken about her, make fluent sentences instead of bullet points, figure out a way to help her beyond an orgasm. She was stuck in a loveless relationship and Yoongi’s immediate thought was just advise her to break up with her douchebag boyfriend but he couldn’t say it so crudely. Not only was it insensitive, it was kind of illegal for him to get too involved in his patients’ lives like that. Throughout his career, not particularly long but with a few years under his belt, he had always played by the rules, even if bending them was necessary, he never downright broke them and never felt compelled to do so. Saying that Alma was the sole reason for his downfall would be a stretch, but she was definitely inadvertently a part of it, with her plump lips and buttocks and her bloodshot yet innocent eyes, a true underappreciated prize that deserved so much more than a man who didn’t even do his own dishes. 

In reality, Yoongi was tired. He was tired of listening, tired of having sex, tired of existing in general and he would kill for a few days off but he felt like he couldn’t escape his duty like that, much like Superman doesn’t take a vacation from saving people’s lives. 

Luckily, the next day he had only one session and that had been called off due to an unexpected sickness so he would be free to sleep and sulk all day, despite the nice weather forecast. Enjoying the sun is for people who enjoy life, he would tell himself, justifying his own lack of will to live. Lately, enjoying being alive had proven a difficult task for Yoongi, who was in desperate need of some type of getaway and probably some sex beyond the therapeutic type he provided. He fucked a lot for the good of others but almost never for his own pleasure. Sure, he liked his job and he always enjoyed the therapy sessions he administered but sometimes he was consumed by a raging will to fuck someone for the sheer pleasure of fucking someone, hard and rough, the way he wanted to, outside those office walls he knew by heart. 

The empty pizza boxes greeted him the following morning, as he awoke later than he had expected, groggy and unrested, despite having slept for more hours than the usual five on a good day, his sleep was interrupted a few times by odd dreams he could barely remember and a sudden need to masturbate in the toilet. He tried to keep his mind empty as he did but, without fail, his imagination crept up on him and a female figure rested near his, a hand on his dick, pouty lips ready and willing. Or was that a dream? Either way, he didn’t have a peaceful night and he was conflicted between cleaning up the mess around him and being productive or doing absolutely nothing all day but eventually, the first won. Even at his worst, he was incapable of letting the dirt pile up, his obsession with tidiness and neatness would never let him live. The one thing he couldn’t seem to tidy up was his thoughts, always scattered around in his head, like post-it notes on the wall, connecting ideas together but not in a clear way. 

And as of the previous weeks, his brain was even messier than usual, overworked and underslept, craving something back for all he gave to others. It sure would be nice if he knew where Alma worked so he could just drop in and pretend to buy something, a pathetic excuse to see her acting naturally instead of the protective demeanour she always had in his office. He wanted to see her face surrounded by a different background and with a fake customer service smile plastered on it. He knew he could get that information quickly and easily but that would break all the rules - his own and the clinic’s and he would most likely lose his job if he dared to look into those confidential files he should have no access to under any circumstance. 

It was a bit city, the chances of them meeting by accident were very slim, even if he looked in all coffee shops, book stores, restaurants and pubs, he would probably never find her. And that’s the way it should be. He had never felt so compelled to pry into someone’s life like that, he had always felt a bit upset that he couldn’t stay in touch with those he helped and he would have liked to drop a Christmas card or a how have you been text here and there, but he understood the nature of his work and the reason why he couldn’t do that and he had always accepted that as a not so good part of his job. He’d had gorgeous women leave his office to never return, he had felt deep emotional connections to a lot of the women he helped but he had never felt the way Alma made him feel: almost obsessed. 

Her story wasn’t new and unique, he had seen dozens of people stuck in bad relationships and bad sex, he had seen people who would have their first orgasm at his hands, he had seen good looking women with such low self esteem before and there was nothing truly special about Alma. She was pretty and had a nice figure, much like a lot of his former patients. She was vulnerable and shy, much like a lot of his patients. He didn’t truly understand why he kept her at the back of his mind more than anything else or why he would occasionally feel odd impulses to throw everything away for a chance to be with her outside those crusty walls of his office but he just felt it and he couldn’t get it off his head. 

Perhaps it was just awful timing, he pondered, coffee mug in hand. He had been feeling sick for a while and she was just there when it all happened. And sick on the inside, not on the outside. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t felt like eating… He had this urge to save her so he could maybe save himself, but it had to be her, nobody else. Either way, Yoongi knew he had to collect himself before Sunday, he owed her a decent session, at the very least.

~

Jungkook didn’t get the memo, apparently. Either that, or he just didn’t care. When Alma returned from work, past nine o’clock, the dirty dishes left by Jungkook were still there, as if he hadn’t even spared them a single look. She was convinced that he did see them and he did understand the message, he just didn’t give a fuck. Even if Jungkook was a sort of stereotypical muscle pig jock type, he was far from unintelligent, he just prefered to lead others into believing him to be stupid for his own benefit and that in itself was quite smart, Alma thought, and one of the things that had attracted her to him in the beginning. 

“Would it kill you to clean up your shit?”

She hadn’t meant to sound that harsh and as soon as the words left her mouth, she immediately regretted it, thinking of the kind of backlash she would face from her boyfriend, who had never been too good at dealing with his emotions and was easy to infuriate. 

“I’m tired,” he simply replied, not bothering to even look up at her.

“Me too, Jungkook, I’ve been at work since eleven in the morning.”

She was expecting him to shout, maybe throw his cup at the wall, get up and leave like he usually did whenever she called him out on his bulshit and he didn’t have a good comeback prepared, because deep down he knew she was right. He had never hit her but he got scary when angry, he had smashed things and screamed at her, he had once raised his hand, although he apologised profusely right after. That incident, about a year earlier, was probably the first time she considered that their relationship was possibly falling apart and she needed to leave. That was the turning point in her mind, the warning that Jungkook could possibly not be the prince charming he had seemed to be in the first few months. They had been so happy for a while, he seemed too good to be true and, suddenly, the world was crumbling before her eyes as he held his open hand just mere inches from her face, his eyes irradiating anger.

“Look, baby, I’m sorry,” he put down his mug and got up, walking towards her in cautious steps, his hands coming to hold hers. “I know I’ve been a prick lately, I’m just under a lot of stress these days…”

His voice trembled, as if he was about to cry and she let out a heavy sigh, that had most likely been in her for a while. She had seen this scene a few times: he does something shitty, she calls him out and he does something worse and then gives her some puppy eyes and a half-assed apology as if she owed it to him to accept his remorse, rather than him changing the abusive behaviours that hurt his girlfriend.

“Please clean up,” was all she whimpered before letting go of his hand and walking to the bathroom. She was too physically and mentally exhausted to try and listen to his broken record of excuses or even attempt to forgive him, not just for the dishes but for the past eighteen or so months in their relationship.

The mattress sank under Jungkook’s weight as he lied down next to her and she felt his arm wrap around her waist, his hand cold against her warm belly. She pretended to be asleep so he wouldn’t try and talk, eyes closed and thinking about nothing and everything at once. Maybe sex would fix it? It usually did, at least for him. He would get his fix, feel less angry and be a bit more inviting for a couple of days. 

“I know you’re up, Alma.”

She didn’t say anything and just let his lips travel up and down her neck until she turned around to face him, his eyes barely open and his voice barely above a whisper. In the dark, he almost looked like Yoongi, with his black hair and rough hands. Was she fully awake, she would have slapped herself in the face for having such a thought but, at that ungodly hour and so absolutely drained, she decided to go with it, to let Jungkook touch her body, her mind wandering to the office she longed to visit again. 

What would Yoongi do to her? Would he just ask her to point where she wanted to be touched, or would he take initiative? What if she told him about the book she’d been reading, would he be rough? Was there some type of guidelines in his job that he had to follow during therapeutic sex or was it like normal sex? What even is normal sex?

All these questions flooded her mind as an unsuspicious Jungkook slid his boxer shorts down his legs, giving her panties the same treatment. She whined when she realised what was about to happen and, for the first time in a long time, instead of ignoring her complaints and doing what he meant to do, he took a moment attend to her needs, kissing down her body at a slow pace, the way she had dreamed he would do. Maybe this time she would feel bliss and after she would call the clinic up and say she didn’t need doctor Min anymore.

~  
Yoongi got up and put his clothes back on, leaving a couple of crumpled bills on top of the desk as she opened the motel room window to have a smoke.

“Thanks,” was all he said before leaving, hands in his pockets, wishing he had asked her for a cigarette. 

He decided to take the time to ponder on what was wrong with him later, he needed to get ready to his first session of the day, with no other than Carol. And this time he couldn’t just finger her and pretend that she didn’t have deeper issues that needed to be talked about. That was the thing about his job, he didn’t just get paid to give orgasms and have his own, he was a serious therapist who needed to provide emotional support to people who had gone through hell and back but, lately, he felt like he was the one who needed the therapy and probably the orgasms too. He had the latter but that callgirl was sadly not versed in psychotherapy. 

“Pack of Camels, please,” his voice was raspy and exhausted as he placed a tenner on the counter. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks Yoongi,” the female voice behind the counter replied, her hand lingering on the note for longer than it was necessary, until he looked up.

His expression changed into a big smile as soon as his eyes met hers and she went around the counter, her arms open for him.

“Camila, it’s been ages! I can’t believe you’re back!”


	4. quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smutty smut smut

They sat across each other, two mugs and one muffin on the table before them. Yoongi almost couldn’t believe his eyes and thought he had to be dreaming; to see her again, after all that time and after everything they had shared was just insane. He thought it could be a sign, that the gods - if they even existed - were trying to tell him something.

She looked pretty much the same as she did two years earlier, except her hair had grown past the middle of her back and she seemed to have gained a bit of weight. Other than that, he also noticed she just seemed to radiate light, like she had been pulled out of the darkness that surrounded her when they first met. This thought made Yoongi smile bitterly to himself: he had been her light in the darkness and now he was the gloom himself while she shone so bright.

“Isn’t this, like, against the rules,” she inquired, both her hands on the white mug, blowing cool air into her hot coffee, a habit he had noticed in her a couple of years earlier and he had always found endearing. 

“Well, we didn’t exactly seek each other, Camila,” he smiled slightly, warmth invading his heart for being able to say her name again. He took the small knife on his plate to cut the sicilian lemon muffin - her favourite - in half, gesturing the woman to take one of the halves.

“Thanks,” she murmured with a grin, grabbing her piece of the muffin and taking a bite before putting it down on a napkin. “Well, that’s very true.”

“And it’s been, what, two years? I guess at this point the professional relationship we shared has pretty much dissolved,” he assured her, noticing she had finally taken a sip of her coffee.

The use of the phrase professional relationship would have given her chills in a not-so-distant past; she was aware it was absolutely senseless for her to have felt that way but she couldn’t be held accountable for the way Yoongi had made her feel in what she would describe as the absolute worst period of her life. She knew, logically, that it was never love and the nature of their bond was purely professional. She was vulnerable after what had happened to her and Yoongi was there to take care of her, to make her feel good in more ways than one. He was her companion and best friend for over one year and after they abruptly cut all ties, she spiraled into a deep depression again, knowing very well that the one-sided love she felt for doctor Min was artificial, a byproduct of her loneliness and suffering, wrapped into an easy-on-the-eye doctor who listened to her, gave useful advice and understood her pain. 

“You’re very right,” she agreed, taking another careful sip. Yoongi thought the coffee was barely lukewarm but Camila had always had a sensitive tongue and had trouble drinking or eating anything hot. “So are you still a love doctor?”

He let out a small chuckle at the phrase she chose to describe his line of work; he had never thought of himself as a love doctor or anything of the sorts. He did have a PhD but in Psychology, not in Love. In reality, his love life had always been almost non-existent and he knew nothing about that sort of feelings, he had only experienced them vicariously through his patients and friends.

“If that’s what you think of my job, then yes, I very much am still a love doctor,” he nodded gently, his kind eyes on hers. “A proud one,” he added.

“What about you, what have you been doing?”

“Well,” she began, daring to take another sip, “I went back to Brazil to finish my degree and now I’m officially a lawyer, I work in an office around here.”

“I’m very happy to hear that, Camila,” he smiled genuinely. 

Yoongi had noticed the ring on her finger but he was purposely avoiding the subject for fear of prying or seeming too nosey but he knew she would eventually mention it. For a fraction of a second, he feared she had just given herself to some guy for fear of being lonely, but he hoped her words would reassure him that Camila Pais had found a man who truly loved her and treated her with the utmost respect.

“I’m getting married in July,” her face lit up like a firefly in the darkest of nights. “He’s also from Brazil, from Rio,” she explained, the most sincere glow in her semblance, she was radiating with happiness and love. “Thanks to you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi wasn’t entirely sure what he had done, but thinking about it for a bit, it made sense: he took a broken woman, haunted by shame and guilt and nursed her back to health, gave her the confidence to feel like herself again, to allow herself to trust men and be happy by a man’s side. Through it all, he was more than aware that she had developed strong feelings for him but he did what he thought was right for her: he helped through it all and, when it became too unbearable, he opened up to her about it and took a step back. He knew she would resent her but that was the price to pay to keep her sanity and his own.

“It’s my pleasure,” he gave her a loving look, like a father watching his child walk for the first time. “I’m so happy for you, Camila.”

“Me too, Yoongi, and I’m so happy to have ran into you again!”

Despite everything, it was mutual. Even if they shared a dark secret, Yoongi was certainly radiant that he had found her again after two years and that she was just delighted to be alive, unlike him. Miss Pais was, of all his patients, the one whose case hurt Yoongi the most; the first time he read her file, alone in his studio apartment, he had cried himself to sleep at the gruesome details of what had been done to her. It wasn’t the first time he cried reading a patient’s report - he had seen so much violence and disrespect towards women - but that definitely felt like the absolute worst he had ever laid his eyes on. Yoongi and Camila went through a lot together, oddly enough. The process of healing after a tragedy brings people together, after all.

 

Even though his heart felt a bit lighter having shared a nice moment with a woman he had helped, his head was still set on someone else he was supposed to help. Much like Camila had fallen in hopeless pseudo love with him two years before, he was starting to understand what she had felt back then because he definitely knew, logically, that the special liking he had taken for Alma Paz was the same type of sick, platonic infatuation over the idea of her he had painted for himself. Truth is, Camila Pais didn’t know Min Yoongi, the same way that Min Yoongi did not know Alma Paz. They had spent two hours together and all he knew besides her name and age, was that she had a prick for a boyfriend (or so he had judged) and she wanted to have an orgasm.

~

Jungkook’s eyes were fixed on the dirty yellow ceiling as if he was expecting the meaning of life to be revealed to him there, at some point. His t-shirt and boxer shorts hadn’t been picked up and his girlfriend had accidentally slammed the front door on her way out when she left for work. The doorbell ringing abruptly snapped him back to reality and he dragged himself out of bed, tripping in his own feet while trying to shove his underwear on and jogged to the door, hair all over the place and swollen eyes.

“Is Miss Paz here?”

Jungkook rubbed his eyes and yawned, a hand in front of his mouth as he processed what was going on. In front of him was a mailman, tall and slim and wearing his red and grey uniform. 

“She left for work,” he replied, blinking as he adjusted to how light it was outside. “I can sign it though.”

The man handed him a small package and a form to sign, which he did before closing the door on his face without even a thanks. He knew he shouldn’t, but Jungkook felt an urge to open up the package and check its contents but he fought that instinct and just put the parcel down on the kitchen table before tending to breakfast.

The previous night had been quite the emotional rollercoaster for him, even if he would never admit it to anyone else, or himself for that matter. He wasn’t sure what made him be so gentle with Alma, he had never been one to fuck slowly. He had expected her to see stars, scream and chant his name in an explosion of pleasure or whatever they call it in romantic novels but, instead, she let out a few low moans that sounded more like she was tired rather than having the time of her life. He even bothered to do oral on her, something he hadn’t done in a long, long time but her response had been so underwhelming that he was left thinking whether or not he should ever try it again.

In the beginning of their relationship, they fucked a lot. All the time. And she always moaned loudly, screamed almost, like those girls in pornos who almost sound like they’re being slaughtered. In the beginning, Alma would never say no or make excuses, she would lie down and just take it like a good girl, do anything Jungkook told her to do. He thought that having slow sex would make her interested in him again, but it didn’t seem to work. As soon as he got off of her, his face red from bliss, she did nothing but turn to her side and fall asleep while he was left to deal with his own feelings, something he wasn’t used to doing.

Jungkook knew, deep down, that he was nothing but an arsehole and borderline abusive towards his girlfriend and that she put up with his bulshit because she didn’t feel comfortable leaving, plus she couldn’t afford to move out and pay deposit and two months worth of rent that easily. He had a good job but she didn’t, she had leaned on Jungkook for stability and there was nothing else holding them together. He knew it, he just didn’t want to face the music. He wondered when the love they used to have for each other actually started to die and if there was anything he could do to fix it, but he was sure that she was too far gone.

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to save the relationship or just let it go, mostly because owning her inflamed his ego, he felt powerful over her, like he could tell her anything or put her through whatever he wanted and she wouldn’t move a muscle. There was no denying that it had been love at some point. Once upon a time, Jungkook Jeon and Alma Paz had truly looked at each other and felt nothing but pure bliss to be together but those days were long gone and while Alma suffered in silence because she felt trapped in a loveless home, Jungkook had been focused on being angry at his girlfriend for slowly turning into a disobedient rebel who wouldn’t do chores, have sex with him whenever he was horny and, on top of it, was starting to talk back at him like a disrespectful brat. He had never touched her but he had threatened her in more than one occasion, even raising his hand at her and she was still acting like an ungrateful bitch.

The brown package was still there, unmoving as expected, looking so inviting. She rarely ordered anything online, mostly because she didn’t have money to shop for anything other than necessities. The shape of the parcel, rectangular and about the size of a notebook, made him think it was either a manual or documents. He could just take a little peek, right…?

~

“Thanks Mrs. Hathaway, I’ll see you next week.”

Yoongi gently closed the door behind the woman with a sigh. That had been an exhausting day and he still one last patient to see: Alma Paz. That would be their third session but he felt like she had been to his office at least two hundred times. He wanted nothing more than to rip off whatever she would be wearing and have his way with her right there, show her what screaming in pleasure truly meant. Any moaning she had ever faked while her shitty boyfriend pounded away at her without the slightest shimmer of regard for her wellbeing meant nothing compared to the way Yoongi could make her toes curl. If there was one thing that Yoongi was confident in, it was his skill to fuck a woman the way she needed to. After all, that was his job. He knew he could make Alma’s soul leave her body for a few seconds with just one finger, but having to wait was driving him crazy. Any patient of his waiting naked on his stretcher for him to work his magic started to look like Alma if he closed his eyes and pictured her voluptuous figure there, his hands roaming her beautiful body the way she deserved to be touched. He wanted nothing more than to skip the boring talk therapy and just give it to her, cure her once and for all and tell her to just leave Jungkook and move in with him; she would never have to work again, he made decent money and she could just spend her time painting or learning a new language. 

Of course he wouldn’t act on his desires, he knew better than to let his hormones ruin his life (and hers) but she was just so- so... He didn’t even know what she was. He didn’t even know why Alma of all people, when he sees so many patients every week, all of them vulnerable, beautiful and needy. He needed to figure out what it was about Alma so he could fight those feelings before they consumed him like they had consumed Camila, forcing them to stop the treatment sooner than it was supposed to. Yoongi would hate to leave Alma hanging because of his own stupidity.

“Come in,” he monotonously said to Alma, who had knocked on his door right on time for their session.

“Yoongi,” she began, taking a seat, uncertain of what to say next. A lot had happened since their last meeting, including that awkward attempt at loving sex by Jungkook. “Hi.”

Alma mentally slapped herself for saying hi in such a crude, emotionless way, as if she was greeting a random person on the street. What’s worse, she knew what would happen in the following hour - he would ask her what she liked about herself and she would feel like she had to show him. She knew she didn’t have to, nobody was forcing her but, for some reason, she was compelled to think that she had to bare it all for him. After what she had done by herself thinking about him, all Alma wanted was to take off her clothes and just give herself to him, on a silver platter. Sex with Jungkook would never work again, even if he tried to be gentle, she was too hurt to even fake pleasure like she did for so long.

“So, how was your week?”

His question had her in an odd daze, like she somehow expected him to order her to undress instead of such a mundane enquiry. She would have undressed if he asked her to.

“It was fine,” she lied with a sigh. “I did the homework.”

“Very good, Alma,” he calmly congratulated her. “Go ahead and show me what you’ve done.”

Although his word choice most likely had nothing more to it than a simple and clear request, the way he voiced it made Alma feel like he intended it to sound as some type of innuendo, especially since he accompanied his words with a slight smirk. Something took over her in that moment because she did something so utterly out of character that she barely felt like herself. Thankful that she was wearing a button-up dress, she began to unbutton it, her fingers shaking slightly but her mind was made up. What can possibly go wrong, she reassured herself.

Yoongi did absolutely nothing, the look on his face remaining stern as always as the item of clothing fell to the floor, pooling around her ankles. 

“I like my breasts,” she whimpered, reaching for the hook on her bra to undo it, carefully pulling the straps off her shoulders, covering the most she could with her arm before tossing the bra aside too. “I think they’re sexy.”

She was trembling, a dark blush tinting her cheeks, tinglings spreading all over her body and focusing on one place in particular. There was no going back now and every second she felt more and more foolish, almost naked in front of her therapist and feeling her heat soak with need.

“Hmm,” was all Yoongi could muster as she let her arm down, her full figure now exposed to him, with the exception of her core, still clothed in a pair of simple white cotton panties. He truly would love to fully express his awe but that would be unprofessional. He already found himself in a rather unprofessional setting, his blood focusing on one particular area of his body and he needed all his strength to pull through one hour. This was not the plan, he should not have sex with her so soon, she needed so much more talk therapy before they could even touch each other. 

“What else do you like, Alma?”

Maintaining a professional demeanour had never been so difficult for doctor Min, who regarded himself as a respectable therapist. He had enough people scoffing at the nature of his job, he needed to prove to himself that he wasn’t a simple prostitute who happens to know Psychology. But how could he stay put when she was oh-so-beautiful, so ready to take him in.

“I like my ass.”

He did not expect her to say something crude, it was so unlike the shy woman he had encountered in their first two sessions. Still, he had to admit this side of her turned him on even more. Yoongi felt so compelled to reply would you like to show me that too but he knew better than to be so raw with a patient. If something was to happen, god forbid, it would be at her own accord.

“I touched myself the other day for the first time in a while,” she confessed, taking tiny slow steps towards his desk. “It was so much better than sex with Jungkook.”

“Alma,” he tried, voice beginning to tremble ever so slightly. Of course he had patients try to seduce him, that kind of situation wasn’t news to him. But that patient in particular, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control his urges if she continued to act like that. A voice in his head kept trying to ring the alarm, saying that she was most likely disassociating and that was a symptom of something big, but he was almost salivating at the sight of her breasts jiggling gently as she moved and he couldn’t be held accountable for his primal needs. “Alma, what is this-”

She didn’t respond verbally. All she did was simply rest her head on her palms, elbows on his desk and she looked at him, examining his expression with precision. She could put her clothes back on and apologise, which felt tempting. Or she could be a big girl about it and let things happen, the way she wanted to. And what she wanted was to just lie down on his desk and feel his hands.

“Can I show you how I did it?”

Yoongi was about to burst. She wasn’t even trying to sound all fake-innocent, it was just her nature. There was something pure about her, not necessarily in a virginal kind of way but she radiated virtue and kindness, like a goddess. He couldn’t stop her, he couldn’t say no. He could merely observe and take her in. The comforting thought he kept repeating to himself was that allowing her to explore her sexuality freely was a good therapy method for a woman who had been chained to a weird moral code her entire life and wasn’t even allowed an orgasm.

Taking a couple of steps back, she shed her underwear before sitting back down, her legs spreading slightly. Her right hand went straight to her aching core, feeling around the mound for a bit, almost as if she was hesitant. Which she was. Not even Jungkook had ever seen her like that, even in their good days. It felt dangerous yet oddly addictive. His eyes just couldn’t leave her fingers, the way they danced around her heat, unhurriedly like she had all day. She had only one hour but that was more than enough.

“I need your help,” she whimpered, middle finger circling her bundle of nerves gently, too gently almost. Upon hearing these pleading words said so softly, Yoongi truly had no choice but to get up and kneel down in front of her, his face so close that he could smell it. He was hesitant, he knew that as soon as his lips touched her folds, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Please…”

That was the end of the line for Yoongi, such a soft yet desperate plea, as if she was trapped in a desert and he was an oasis, he was ready to quench her thirst and his own. He removed his glasses and set them down on his desk before attaching his lips to hers and drinking from the fountain that was Alma Paz. And she was wet indeed, the salty substance tasted the way fresh water tastes on a summer day. 

From that angle and without his big glasses, Yoongi looked like an angel to her. As cliché as it sounds, she thought of him as an angel of sin, so eager to please her, a hand travelling leisurely up her leg, from her knee up to her inner thigh, resting there for only a mere second before his finger was tentatively inserted into her. He didn’t think it would be painful, given how wet she was but he still wanted to make sure before doing to her exactly what he wanted to do.

 

“Yoongi…”


End file.
